


First Glance, Second Look

by theriversings



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Gen, Overthinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-17 00:26:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3508256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theriversings/pseuds/theriversings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can step into their minds unseen, see where they hurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Glance, Second Look

The air around The Iron Bull always smells faintly of blood, calling to him, tempting, intoxicating. It would be so easy to immerse himself in it, let its surface close over his head, let its hum be the only sound in his ears. He was close to doing it, once, but in the end he was too scared. It comes back sometimes, subtle at first, but with enough time its sound can drown out everything else.  
Before, duty helped. Obligations, necessities, hard like a stone and as immovable. Now he looks at the Chargers, tries to find comfort in this new duty, but it feels fake. His new name burns like a brand. Who is he now? _Is_ he anyone? Who do you become if you throw away everything that was you? He trips over questions no one can answer.  
He feels angry at the multitude of possibilities, something no one here understands which makes him even angrier. You have to choose, everyday, every moment, opening one door and closing another, never still, never at peace, never whole. And yet every one of the people here is striving for this "freedom", like they can't see how bitter it is.  
There is one creeping, stinging thought that he was bound to end this way, that he was doomed the moment he left his homeland. Too hard to resist temptation at every moment, especially when it's so much pleasure. One small step in the wrong direction, then another, another, telling himself he can return anytime if he wills it. Truth is, there is no path behind him. There never was.  
  
***  
  
First meeting with Morrigan is a shock to Cole. He feels so exposed, so completely visible, it's almost as if she possessed some kind of lenses letting her see every detail of him magnified. And her look is not a kind one - intrigued but indifferent, making him _wish_ he could be invisible to her and didn't have to feel like she was picking him apart in her mind.  
She does it to others too. Calculated words, just a pinch of what she's thinking (not too much) and in turn, people open up as expected, sharing carelessly everything they know for one thing she gave up. There's great power in well-timed silence... and she knows how to use it.  
People move out of Morrigan's way, don't look into her eyes, whisper behind her back and want to be like her - a mysterious presence made of awe and gossip. She likes it, her mouth crooking with amusement and disdain at their closed minds, transforming everything they don't understand into fables and idle talk. Maybe that's the fate of everyone bold enough in this world.  
When he looks into her, he sees things hidden even before herself. She always feels chased by someone -strange shapes in the dark, a smell of herbs- but what she doesn't realize is that with each step she's closer to becoming what she's running away from. She dreams of becoming equal but becomes a mirror instead, her childhood fears and fantasies shaping her life's path. Even if she realized this, now it's too late to change anything.  
  
***  
  
Sera is like a box that has poisonous needles coming out when you try to open it. The way she sees the world is too tiring for Cole, all sharp, loud sounds and vivid colors, explosions of fun and anger. Sometimes the sheer intensity of her emotion hits him so hard his head starts spinning. Especially that for him she doesn't have good thoughts, her mind is closing off, slithering away with disgust and fear. He doesn't belong in her kind of world, he's too in-between, blurred at the edges.  
She says she wants to help but it's been some time since that's been true. A person she is now just likes the taste of fear. When people crawl, beg, when they know there's no hope for them but do it anyway, then she feels needed and powerful, the dreams of small people giving her strength to do what she needs to do... No, this is what she _wants_ to do. Even thinking about it makes it hard for him to breathe, but she is convinced she is doing a right thing, so strongly, and some other people think so too, even those that are not cruel at all. It's impossible to comprehend.  
She won't talk to him but her emotions are so loud he can see whether she wants it or not. In fact, he can't prevent them from cutting his skin and then seeping under (it's always bad emotions that do this), changing what he sees in people. Their voices become growls, their faces twist in unnatural ways. Maybe this is the reason she is like this, always posed for attack? He wants to ask but can't quite dare.  
  
***  
  
It's always easier to focus with Varric around, his thoughts a strong and steady flow. People come to him and leave better, and he manages to help by simply talking to them. His words aren't always true but they don't feel like lies - it's difficult for Cole to wrap his head around it. It's like Varric was adding spice to them so that others will like them better.  
When he's near the dwarf, Cole starts to notice new things. People's quirks, spring in their step when they're happy, a unique item of jewelry, a pet name they have for someone. Later, little bits of reality are put together in a new way, like making a stained glass window, only this time on paper.  
Sometimes he's quieter, it's when he can't get the song of red lyrium out of his head. Regrets form into a shape of another dwarf and then it's time for Cole to go somewhere else because it's family and it's death and his hands start shaking uncontrollably. Unwanted memories stir, threatening to break the surface of his thoughts and bring him back again into that small, dark box.  
When the lady Champion is around, a tender tone creeps into Varric's voice. If he could, he'd lift the world from her shoulders, but the ghosts prevent him, circling, dragging her down. Cole wants to help, but he's no use. There's no forgetting what she did and what other people did to her, cruel stories with jagged edges. Varric was there, so he can help. Shared days, nights, aching when away and burning when near, so little space between the two bodies, silly honest words spoken in the dark making up a bittersweet story Cole can't quite grasp.  
  
***  
  
Vivienne confuses him - she sees him but _pretends_ not to. It doesn't make any sense. The few times he tried to talk to her, she said as little as possible  while looking somewhere just above his head, words thrown like stones to keep him away. He now wonders at her from afar. Eventually he learned to keep his distance.  
Vivienne herself likes to be distant, a figure to be admired, a person with influence, an adviser... but not a friend. Player of the Game mustn't ever show their true heart, better to hide it away, close behind steel doors and pretend it's not there at all. The more you show, the more you're vulnerable and she learned that early on. She intends not to repeat the mistake. Cole makes her angry, seeing through, dragging out what should belong only to her.  
The mages at Skyhold shun her, or is it her who's shunning their company? Smiles are made of ice, words drip with dishonesty and malice. She scoffs and walks with her head high. What do they know with their limited perspective? She sees flames, sprung from hate and ignorance, consuming all that was good in mage community. She wants to put them out, but how much can she do without supporters?  
The distance is her flaw. What she knew, how she lived, no other mage could have that and she doesn't listen, doesn't understand. Crippling fear of templars and of demons and of yourself, long empty hours, sneaking away when it's dark, learning to hate the leash you're on. Two worlds, two sides of the coin. Who is right? The way she thinks, the one that stays alive.  
  
***  
  
The master of spies has dozens of masks, changing them with ease between conversations. Not real masks, ones made of charm and smiles and steel in her voice. Not used for singing, not anymore. Her fingers now pluck at the strings connecting friends, subjects, enemies.  
She knew him when he didn't know who he was. It makes him uncomfortable. She remembers what he did, wonders how useful he would be to her. An invisible tool, a perfect advantage, a kiss from a dagger in the night. He shudders. Before, he may even have accepted to feel useful, needed. Not now. Now he knows that there are other ways to help.  
Leliana plunges deeper and deeper into the shadows without the Divine's light to lead her. Cole doesn't understand faith, but he understands loss and abandonment - and the spymaster doesn't have anyone else now, drifting away from Josephine who's too bright to look at with her sunny Antivan smiles. Leliana now sorts people into categories, makes them do visible and invisible work, so that they become a living melody, her most complicated and most emotionless creation. She will see everything through, with or without anyone's support.  
What he knows is that there was another Leliana once, driven by the same force but in a different direction, like a twin sister made of sunshine, now closed deeply inside so that no ray of light shines through anymore. It was easier before Morrigan came because no one knew where to look. Now Leliana's afraid of witch's mocking eyes. She turns away and looks forward, the only way she still can.  
  
***  
  
Solas is radiating quiet acceptance and Cole cannot help but be drawn to it. He restrains himself, maybe he's imposing, maybe he really should stay away more, but it's so addictive to be treated like a complete person, just like everyone else. Of course there's some curiosity too, but the elf commands it with catlike grace, stepping softly around when they're talking.  
There's an eagerness to see, know, feel, understand that makes spirits crowd around Solas, their own desires amplified when they draw near. And he's not afraid, like so many mages are. He revels in his uniqueness, taking and learning what he can, but not giving back - not to people that won't understand. And no one understands, so he can continue walking alone.  
Cole always thought being alone is cold and dark, but for him it's not like that. He prefers that people see him from afar, a traveler passing through, Inquisition only a part of his journey, one life among countless he's experienced and will experience. What he wants to forget is that all lives have to end, eventually, and a lonely life ends in a lonely death.  
Sometimes his mind is distant even to Cole, veiled in smoke, impossible to grasp, like he was putting on a hooded cloak. You can't even see his shape anymore. He shuns the company of others and speaks to Skyhold's ghosts or just listens to the wind. Wondering what lies ahead, drowning in memories? No one knows and he doesn't ever explain.  
  
***  
  
Cullen thinks of the Inquisition as an escape. A new title, a new place, a new group to command. Third time's the charm? He speaks of his past less and less, waiting until it will all be covered in cobwebs, until blood stains turn into dust. He dreads meeting these who knew him before, their distrustful stares, wonders if they wonder whether his face will start cracking at the edges, exposing what they remember.  
He'd rather not remember at all. Hate and fear, running through his veins when he believed it was righteousness and piety. Now every time he faces Andraste a part of him wants to hide. She sees what he was, silently weighing his crimes. A judgement is to come.  
He can't stand to be near Hawke because his mind goes straight back to the Gallows, to the moment when he decided to support her... way too late. It didn't feel like victory. Meredith was killed, but to see how many had followed her without the touch of red lyrium, to know _he_ could have been there too if it all happened a while earlier. Maybe he'd stop at some point, see the truth, but maybe he wouldn't and he'd die at Hawke's hand. She wouldn't show mercy - and it wouldn't be deserved.  
Now he's assaulted by images of what could be, nightmares that don't seem to end when he wakes up. Not taking lyrium is as much a way to freedom as it is a punishment for not seeing enough. It's hard to teach yourself to see more when you can't trust your senses, but for him it's this or death. He won't leave yet another place burned to the ground.  
  
***  
  
Cassandra throws herself into frantic activity whenever she can, afraid of the peace and quiet because then she starts wondering how everything around her fell apart and then was rebuilt, but in a shape she doesn't recognize anymore. It's better when the world is all blurry, when she doesn't have time to ponder. That's why she left home. There, everything under so much scrutiny, always good advice, always people knowing better, demanding of her to relive every decision over and over and over again. But it's hard to let go of these habits, as the Inquisitor well knows, as now it's her turn to be questioned at every step.  
Everything in Cassandra wants to reach out to Leliana, but the words twist in her mouth, always coming out differently than she intended, keeping her inside a cage made of misunderstandings. She thinks often of how the Divine should connect them -they could be like sisters, this new family better than the last one- but she's yet again unable to say what's on her mind (and she doesn't see Leliana pull away with a sad smile). The Divine somehow always knew what was there behind the brash words, explained it better than Cassandra herself ever could.  
Now, silence. Cole could speak to her (for her), but she hides behind her armor, uneasy because he's a mystery but not a miracle. A miracle she could accept. Not him, so far away from the one she calls the Maker.  
  
***  
  
Errands, big and little, piling up, sometimes making Josephine feel completely helpless, though she wouldn't admit it to anyone. How does the Inquisitor manage with all the expectations? Josephine sometimes feel she'll crumble under hers and they don't encompass saving the world.  
There's always a nagging feeling she's not doing enough. One more report, one more order to give... and then she wakes up, alone, on a pillow made from papers, with a snuffed-out candle on the table beside her. And even then, she thinks she could and should do more, certainly everyone is thinking that too? She needs to make up for the fact she can't fight like them.  
She misses Antiva and the times her only concerns were small and domestic. When she left home, she was a child, now it's her place to look after everyone, to know everything even if she's not there, to find time, money, relations. She wishes they'd see how straining it is, but doesn't tell - she'll manage to do it all because she's the only one who can and she takes silent pride in it.  
She'd like to understand more about life, its different sides, but is closed within what she already knows and it's hard for her to get out. She never had to worry about the mundane and people know that by her questions, always a little off, always a bit disconnected from their experience. It discourages her, tempts to remain in ignorance... but can she afford to do that, now that she isn't surrounded by nobles anymore? To be useful, she needs to learn and she will.  
  
***  
  
Dorian smiles even when people are thinking bad things at him. It means they notice, they have to take a stand. It feels good to force them to do it. They see what he is, not what he was, not what he could be. What _he_ , himself, chose to be, and nothing tastes as sweet as this. Sometimes it's even enough to let him think of home without hurting too much.  
He marvels at the Inquisitor's trust and... dare he say it? Friendship, warming him from the inside. He expected to be regarded only as an asset, second-guessed all the time, treated with forced, false kindness. Real one baffles him, makes him second-guess the Inquisitor and then shake his head with dismay at the workings of his own mind. He'd like to close his eyes and wrap himself in the sense of belonging but he's afraid. Will it end like last time, with quick, cruel words, cutting him to the core?  
"Pariah", "outcast", "stranger". If you say it first it can't hurt you, right? When he lays awake, tossing and turning because of the bright moon, the memory creeps from somewhere at the back of his head again. Funny, but it hasn't faded at all despite the flow of time. He can see and hear everything with excruciating detail, each time burned the mess of anger, disappointment and sadness. He usually doesn't sleep much on nights like these.  
Sometimes he feels distant from everything, like he was not attached to the ground at all and wind could blow him away at any minute. He hopes the Inquisitor will catch him by the hand if it comes to that. He's letting himself trust, taking small, careful steps, with each a little more away from fear.  
  
***  
  
One day Blackwall looked into a mirror and saw a monster. The change must have been subtle, he didn't notice it at first, starting with silence, then half-truths. Now he's all made of lies, and worst of all, these lies work, giving him new life. When did it all become so easy? When did he start to _enjoy_ it, even dared to think he is a decent man again? This is something a monster doesn't deserve.  
Guilt and sadness, despair, disgust. They're choking Cole so he cannot tell Blackwall that a monster wouldn't feel all that because monsters never wonder if they're bad. The words are there inside him, but his body won't cooperate, like he was sealed inside a statue. He's afraid of Blackwall's piercing gaze, finding all the explanations with ease, bringing Cole's own monsters back to light and him back into darkness.  
Blackwall doesn't even notice he can still do this - see the truth of people - thinks it was lost when he stopped seeing the truth of himself, but it was there and it saved him when he decided to join the Inquisitor. Now she helps him create the new Blackwall, even though she sees all the blood on his hands. He doesn't understand but deep down inside feels grateful, and then angry at himself.  
Everything about him screams for help that could only be given in the past. He feels he's a traitor to everyone, both then and now, object of angry, disappointed stares. He sometimes thinks of killing himself (these thoughts smell like ice-cold iron) but the chains of duty stop his hand. That would have been an easy way out, something he doesn't deserve. Now is the time to repay.


End file.
